


Cigars and Macarons

by larasunbetadscribbles



Series: AUs I always wanted to write [1]
Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Victorian, Drinking, Drug Use, M/M, Orient Express, Period Typical Attitudes, Secret Relationship, Sexual Content, Smoking, Strangers to Lovers, Train Sex, Will there be a murder?, merchant! phil lester, politician! dan howell, they are rich as fuck
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-02
Updated: 2019-10-16
Packaged: 2020-11-15 06:27:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,813
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20861729
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/larasunbetadscribbles/pseuds/larasunbetadscribbles
Summary: It is 1897, the Orient Express leaves Paris to Constantinople. Dan is an English diplomat, on his way to Bucharest to work for the embassy. On their first stop a man boards the train, a merchant from Manchester on his way to the Ottoman Empire. They meet in Dan's compartment, his name is Philip. Within their 60-hours train ride, they start forming a relationship.





	1. Paris - Châlons-sur-Marne

“S'il vous plait.”

Dan takes the wine offered and simply nods to the waiter, signalling that the Pinot Noir would accompany his roast lamb more than fine.

He insisted on the whole flacon, still frightened by the whole movement of the compartements, this is not his form of travelling by choice this week.

Maybe the wine will help him finding a restful sleep. Outside are the fading buildings of Paris, a city blooming and flourishing.

Since months he considered investing in French real estates, it would be good to have an own apartment there, too.

The wine glass is spun in his left hand, he thinks about his dear mother who would probably snap his fingers now. He can’t help himself. His left hand somehow feels more convenient to use for some ungodly reason. Of course, he uses his right hand in public, but when he can be sure that there is no one watching, he sometimes uses his left hand to write, to smoke, to eat.

Dan makes sure that he exactly knows their time table. His mind spinning endlessly into deep-buried dark thoughts he sometimes is too afraid to speak up about. A sixty-hour train ride is not something that helps him, the fast movement firing his unwellness.

The dish is served, Dan drinks more wine, smokes his favourite cigar. The dark grey smoke filling the restaurant car since the second the first passengers settled down. The strong tobacco in his right hand eases him enough to acknowledge the beauty of the Parisian countryside. They used to have a château near Campagne, to flee the cold London winter months from time to time. He has not been there since 1890, he thinks. Maybe he should visit again at some point, after Bucharest.  
“And a woman is only a woman, but a good cigar is a Smoke.”, he cites his beloved friend Rudyard in his head. They met at Brook’s, a few years ago. Kipling since then moved to America and back, writing one of the best children’s books Dan has ever read.

One day he wants to read the Jungle Book to his future Nieces and Nephews, catching them in the wonderful world of Mogli.  
The lamb is exquisite, as the people were telling him on behalf of his journey. Everyone talks up about the high-class food, the outstanding service, as they were all having an ushered look on the impressive posters advertising the Orient Express.  
The pledges of Constantinople, the unknown East.  
Dan never really cared. Of course, he would have never torn the offer down, but he has the slight feeling of being dislocated.

Surrounded by business people, upper class, aristocrats. He is sharing their world, but he never felt as confident as they do.  
The meanders of le Marne can be seen and they accompany his dessert. He enjoys the view; it has been a while since the last time he had to cross France further than Paris. The weather seems light, the culmination must be within minutes.

Dan nearly curses as they traverse a switch, his wine spilling onto his plate of gourmet arrangements and his waistcoat.

The grey fabric is soaked with dark red marks and they didn’t even arrive in their second destination yet. The waiter approaches within seconds, apologizing for the inconveniences, assailing Dan with multiple napkins.

Dan finishes his meal the second the French man turns around to serve the other travellers, an hour earlier than he thought. His initial plan was to stay in the dining car until they were past Châlons-sur-Marne.

He averts the piercing eyes of the men around him, as he finds his way back to his carriage. He did manage to embarrass himself when he was around some of the richest and most important people of Europe and England.

Back in his couchette he settles down for a glass of Irish whisky and his Dictionary. His Latin is well; therefore, it took him one week to master the basics of Romanian, but still, his work in the embassy will contain more than saying hello and knowing how to conjugate “avea.”

He looks up law terms, political idioms and manages somehow to spend his time. They are approaching their first halt. They roll into past Châlons-sur-Marne, a few men staying on the platform. He considers whether or not he should leave the train, walking a few steps, breathing fresh air.  
He decides against it. From the wooden-framed window, he can see French gentlemen with their luggage, as they board the train.

Ready to set off to Constantinople.

Dan takes out another cigar, he doesn’t know what to do and does not want to face the people he embarrassed himself in front of them earlier.

He would wait at least another hour, with a look onto his Schaffhausen, he emerges from the chair onto his bedding. There is nothing to do for him, with still more than fifty-five hours to go and no need for socialising, the only options are laying in bed trying to sleep or smoking another cigar and reading.

The satin bedsheets are pleasing his hands, laying soft and neat underneath him. The whisky is strong enough to dull his thoughts a little. Outside are people chattering, chirping women waving their goodbyes to their men, hoping that they will not be robbed or worse.

Dan was not particularly afraid, he was incognito, no one knew the purpose of his voyage and still, he always carried his revolver with him.

He closed his eyes, listening to the shrills of the contrôleurs.

Out of nowhere, his door opened wide, he snapped into a sitting position and glanced at a black-haired man, standing in the door of his compartement, wide terror displayed on his visage.

“Excuse-moi!” Dan stared into blue eyes. “S’il vous plait, excuse-moi. Je ne… ne…” The second the man started speaking French, Dan knew he was English.

Struggling for words, the traveller gesticulated, trying to find the right words.

“It’s alright.” Dan smiled politely, standing up to stand face to face with the English Gentleman. “No problem. May I help you?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “And a woman is only a woman, but a good cigar is a Smoke.” Quote by Rudyard Kipling - The Betrothed


	2. Châlons-sur-Marne - Nancy

“No problem. May I help you?” He knows how to be charming, his etiquette is always pointed and moderate to face an English man.

“I am so sorry, on my behalf. I thought this was number four.” The man stumbles over his words, clearly embarrassed and pointing further down the coach.

“Oh, no worries, it is alright.” Dan widely smiles at the other man; he is aware of the dimples forming on both of his cheeks and the fact that he just does not have the ability to grow a proper beard to cover them.

“It is to the left, right beside mine.” The man thanks him, smiling back. He winks at Dan, it looks completely out of place in the stiff costume of their surroundings. “Thank you, again. Maybe we see each other later on, I am planning on a late lunch.”

A last smile, the door slides back to close and blue-eyed Englishman is out of sight.

Dan settles down, back again looking into his dictionary. The man was from up North, Lancashire, maybe. The attitude of a lawyer, maybe an author. Blue eyes, black hair and a beard he could only dream of.

They leave the station, going further east and east, it seems endless. The distance is massive, not to mention the number of kingdoms and duchies they are going to pass.

The sun is still shining, lighting up the dark-wooden walls and blue-padded furniture. He tries to understand how collective nouns work and how to distinguish them.

Declination is not that intuitive as he would like it to. There are multiple grammatical issues he does not understand and there is no one able to help him.

He never bothered to learn Romanian, a language simply not relevant enough to be spoken by him. He managed Italian last year, and even there was no real point in learning. With everyone speaking French, English, German, Russian or Spanish in his circles.

He attended Ancient Greek, of course. Some Persian, Portuguese and Esperanto in his childhood, later on in school.  
But the hell with Romanian. He was looking forward to his stay, his work and the experience. But learning a language without any real driven interest?

He takes out another cigar and recognises, that there is only one left in the box. Of course, he carried multiple with him, but all in all he did not think that he would be smoking so much out of boredom.

They are his favourite brand, imported from Cuba, handmade. He got his first box from his father for his sixteenth birthday and never switched since.

In closed rooms the smell of the smoke settles onto him, into every pore and it will stick in his hair until he has the ability to take a shower again.

They are crossing a viaduct. Underneath is a small village settled in nicely between two hills. It looks beautiful. Smoke fills the air, the whisky is as bitter as Dan loves it.

His pocket watch tells him, that he should consider something to eat.

He remembers the wine stains from earlier and changes his clothing actuel. Did he encounter the Northern man with a visibly splattered waistcoat?

It is not a long way to the restaurant wagon, he just has to cross the other cabins and is greeted with the beautiful, luxurious interior and the passengers sitting neatly at the tables. Eating, drinking, reading.

He glimpses at the men, looking particularly for black hair and his eyes settle on him. Dan is greeted with a warm smile and an unspoken “Please, have a seat:”

He settles down and greets politely, wishing him a good meal. “Have you tried the afters? Anything you recommend?” Dan advocates the fruit salads.  
“I am Philip, by the way. Thank you. And still, I am very sorry for what happened earlier.” Dan smiles, nods.  
“As I said, it is alright. I am Daniel.” They shake hands, across the table and Dan notices how pale the man is. Maybe he is living in Finland.

The waiter takes their orders and leaves an uncomfortable silence behind. They were staring at each other, silently looking over each other’s faces and wardrobes.

Philip knew how to look well, being slightly too much with his colours of choice, but all in all very well dressed.

“So, how come you were in Châlons-sur-Marne? What do you do there?” Dan wants to know, desperately, what is there to do, what Philip does in his life.

“I was staying over at a friend’s. It is a long way from Manchester to Constantinople, I needed a break at some point. Émil, may he be blessed, offered me to stay in his estate.” Philip nods, smiling at him and takes his wine into his hands. It is a white one, Dan’s favourite. He decided to get another red one after his whisky.

Dan still does not know what Philip is doing in his life. He looks like he is about 30, maybe some years younger, but definitely old enough to have a life settled and planned.

“So, Daniel, what do you do? Where are you from? You sound like the King himself, is it London you are coming from?”

Dan takes another sip of his wine, deciding on how much he can tell. He was warned on behalf, of secret agents and intrigues and that he is not allowed to say under any circumstances that he is working for the embassy, that he is a diplomat and the Queen herself wanted exactly him to go there.

“Yes. From Westminster. But I did my studies in Cambridge and I lived in Manchester as well.” He smiles at the surprised face, laughs along with him. “I did law.”, he explains. “Philosophy, Economics and History for some terms.” He offers Philip a cigar which he takes without a doubt.

“So, Philip from Manchester, do you want to play a card game with me after finishing?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I changed the name of Phil's fried to Émil. It won't be discussed further on, but just so you know, it was Émil Bourdieu I intended.  
Also, for some reason I wrote King instead of Queen, that is because I originally wanted to set my story in the Edwardian Period, which I abandoned even before starting to write.


	3. Nancy - Strasbourg

They settle on a game of Rummy; they were both recently in America. They do not talk that much, just silently lay off their cards, change, strategise. Just quiet “It is your turn” or “Thank you, exactly what I needed” are passed back and forth. They decided on a Champagne to conclude the evening. The ashtray is nearly full when Dan clears out his last few cards and they conclude the game.  
It is not exactly late; they are about approach Strasbourg within the next few minutes.

“So, Daniel. I really do not want to end the night; would you catch a fancy in one more whisky?” Philip’s eyes meet his and Dan immediately wants to do everything to stretch out their time together. “Yes, that would be great. But we still have a champagne to finish.” Dan points at their glasses, both only half empty and the whole bottle to go. “We can play another round, if you desire so.”  
“Yes, indeed, that is a lovely idea.” Philip fills both their glasses to the rim, as they settle back deep in to their seats.

“It is my fourth time on board, but I still do not really know how to pass the time. And, apparently, I still bungle with the carriages, as you eye-witnessed.”  
Philip laughs, whole-hearted it sounds, so freed from every bothering and as if there is nothing to worry about.

“The fourth time? So, you are heavily involved with the Ottoman Empire.” Dan really does not want to push Philip’s boundaries and it is against all his manners. Philip seems not to boast about his doings and Dan has to accept that.  
“Yes. Indeed, I am involved in some… commerce. It is entirely new for me, as I am still myself very new in my father’s entrepreneurship.” Philip clearly does not long to talk about it and Dan has to let the topic fall down.

“It is my first time; I am still intimidated. And you are right, there is not that much to occupy yourself with. I have already answered my correspondences and I cannot bother myself with Romanian linguistics a second longer.” It is comedic how they start to laugh within the same second. A small laugh, with no reason to do so and their eyes linger on each other.

“Romanian.” Philip’s hand is put on his mouth, to hide his teeth showing.

“Not my choice either.” Dan explains in brief that he will be staying there for a few months. No revelation of his doings. “I started to learn it, it is required, and there is saying that you need it.”

“Transylvania is not a country that ever caught my fancy. I was surpassing it. A friend’s novel is set there. It was published in May earlier this year.” Dan sees in Philip’s grimace that he certainly did not desire to bring it up. The unspoken “Abraham with a linger in the air. There are sayings.

Something that is not spoken about.

Philip grimaces and it is steady in the air, in between them.

There are certainly two possibilities. To leave it, never mention it again. Or, Dan could possibly go forward. There is a small chance and it would be unfortunate to let it pass.

He still could have a long tirade about indecency and sodomy later on, if it is necessary.

“Abraham, we were in Cruden Bay with in the same time. So, he is a friend of yours?” Philip looks unsteady, Dan is feeling unwell. It is a topic, vulnerable and not some thing to be mentioned to a stranger, to someone met on a train to Constantinople.”

“Yes, we are friends.” It is warmer in the room, it is stated. It is possible, and there is something underlying in these words, something to grasp. Dan could be entirely wrong, something so sensible and precious in just the possible confirmation.  
It is something not to be brought up.

“I was befriended with Oscar. Oscar Wilde. They knew each other, did they not?” There it is, out in the room, told to an unknown person.

With a back door, a way to get out. Philip sips his champagne. A decent amount and it is in the air. Dan can feel it, it is there to grasp, if one of them is decent enough.

“So, Daniel. Are you ready for a return? I can not let you win here. do you have another cigar for me?”

Philip took the way back out and he is not to blame. Dan could have read wrong, misinterpreted and it is uncomfortable.

“Yes, I definitely should win again.” He is doing a shuffle, the atmosphere is unsteady. “He displays the deck, evenly. They eye each other, not saying another word and the topic is let down with cigars and champagne.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> .


End file.
